Chapter 20 - Popularity Contests

.

Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Battlestar Galactica - July, 2249

"Earth Force Starfurys on final approach." Once more in the waiting room adjoining the starboard flight deck, Admiral Adama, President Roslin, and Captain Starbuck listened to the almost disinterested tone in the announcers voice. This was only the second Earth Force visit to the Galactica, the first from any of their fighters, and already Flight Pod Traffic Control was treating it as routine. If anything, Bill was even more nervous than the last time, as he now knew that the Earther systems were not built for returning to a ship with gravity. Their return bays were all in zero G.

He watched as the Starfurys approached the opening to the flight deck. Kara was right. Those fighters were bizarre. The cockpit was the forwardmost part of the vessel, with an entirely clear forward hemisphere. He supposed that offered unparalleled visibility, but Bill couldn't imagine being so exposed in combat. Nor did he think he would ever get used to the idea of being able to see a fighter pilot's feet. That was just wrong.

He tensed as the Starfurys entered the zone of artificial gravity, but this time they were prepared for it, and fighter craft had a lot more maneuvering thrust than shuttles. The Starfurys began to sink slowly towards the deck as their ventral maneuvering thrusters kicked in, spewing gas downwards. Then, as though they had practiced it many times, both fighters began to rotate backwards in unison. They maintained their forward momentum, still sinking towards the deck, but now their primary thrusters were coming into play. As they continued their backwards rotation, those heavy thrusters were pointed more and more towards the deck. They used only a fraction of their power, but quickly arrested all descent. The ventral thrusters, now pointed forward, began to arrest their forward momentum. They eased off slightly on the primary thrusters, allowing them to begin sinking once more. Finally, as the Starfurys approached the deck, there was a final burst of thrust to bring their momentum to zero, with the two craft sitting on their engine nozzles, perpendicular to the deck. It was a far cry from either a Viper's normal or combat landings. Bill had never before seen something look both so graceful and so awkward at the same time.

Starbuck grunted and offered, "I wouldn't want to have to do that in combat." Bill could only nod as they watched the two pilots exit and clamber down from their craft, one of them carrying a large rucksack. He led Laura and Kara out to meet them.

The first pilot removed his bulky helmet and tucked it under his arm, firing off a salute. "Permission to come aboard, Sir?"

Adama returned the salute. "Granted. Welcome to the Galactica, Captain Sinclair. I assume this must be Lieutenant Ivanova?" he asked looking at the very young woman who had similarly doffed her helmet.

"Sir, yes, Sir!" she snapped saluting smartly.

He returned her salute. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. We've heard good things. I look forward to seeing what you can do. Allow me to introduce you both to President Laura Roslin."

"It's a true pleasure, Madame President," Sinclair offered, snapping off another salute, then shaking her hand enthusiastically. He seemed far more impressed by her civilian authority than Commodore Sheridan had. Lieutenant Ivanova didn't seem to know just how to react to being introduced to the President.

Filling the brief silence which followed, Adama continued, "And this is Captain Kara Thrace...Starbuck. She's the CAG. She'll get you settled in, Lieutenant."

"Shall we?" Starbuck asked with her trademark grin. Motioning Ivanova to follow, she lead the young Lieutenant off of the fight deck.

Once the two had departed, Laura asked, "Captain, may I ask what role you serve in your fleet?"

"I've served quite a few. Currently, I am the commanding officer of the Nova. That's a fairly recent development; when we finally convinced the Commodore that he shouldn't be acting as the CO of our primary combat vessel."

Bill quirked an eyebrow at him. "Odd not to see a flag officer commanding from the most powerful vessel."

"You don't command from the Pegasus, Admiral," Sinclair noted. Bill grunted in bemusement, but the Captain continued, "It's one of the vagaries of fighting the Minbari, Admiral. The odds are high that even our most powerful vessel would be chopped up in any serious engagement. At the same time, the Minbari vessels are durable enough that only our most powerful vessel stands much chance of slowing them down. So we were in the very odd position of having our premiere combat vessel prepared to be cast into the role of sacrificial lamb in any encounter. That's no place for the Commodore to fly his flag."

"And what did you do before taking command of the Nova?"

"I was Captain of the Lexington...that's our Heavy Cruiser. I was only in that role for a few months though. Prior to that I was the CAG, like Captain Thrace. Though, we have one CAG for the whole fleet, while I'm given to understand that each of your...Battlestars?" Bill nodded in confirmation, and Sinclair continued, "That each of your Battlestars has its own CAG."

Bill nodded in interest, but he could see Laura's eyes start to glaze over, though her expression remained entirely unchanged. She really was becoming quite the politician. "Captain, if you have a moment, the President and I would like to give you a tour of the Galactica. Along the way, there are a few topics we'd like to discuss."

"It would be my honor, Admiral, Madame President.

Bill lead them on an extended tour throughout the ship, pointing out locations and facilities both exotic and mundane. After having passed through the CIC, they stopped in his quarters. Bill offered their visitor a drink, but Sinclair declined. Roslin, on the other hand, had no compunctions about drinking up his dwindling liquor supply.

"Captain, Sinclair," she began, "I hope you don't mind if we take this opportunity to open a back channel dialogue. I know we are all hoping to gradually grow understanding and communication between our two fleets, starting with the officer exchange effort, but the sensitivity and pressing nature of some matters simply will not wait for such efforts to bear fruit."

"I'm listening, Madame President," he responded cautiously, "though I'm not sure it's a good idea to get into the more challenging subjects just yet. From what I understand of the previous meeting, it was just those topics which lead to confusion and suspicion. We just don't have enough history yet to really trust each other. Frankly, if we hadn't thought it safe enough to take the chance of bringing down the jump drives on the Nova and Eratosthenes for badly needed maintenance, we'd probably have just jumped away the moment we detected you.

Adama grunted. "Hell of a coincidence. We had over a dozen ships in the same condition, including both of our Battlestars. Hell, I still considered ordering every other ship to jump."

Sinclair's eyes widened. "Every other...excuse me, Admiral...are you saying that all of your ships are equipped with jump drives?

Adama and Roslin shared a glance. What the hell? Looking at the Captain quizzically, he cautiously replied. "Yes. Of course."

Sinclair rushed on before Bill could say anymore. "Even...even down to your fighters?

Shaking his head in confusion, Bill responded, "No. Vipers are not equipped with jump drives. But our Raptors are, and they're really not much larger than a Viper. Practically the whole point of a Battlestar is to be able to bring in mass quantities of Vipers so they don't need to take the drain on performance shoehorning in a jump drive would require. Are...are you saying that some of your vessels don't have jump drives?"

"The great majority do not. Ours are so big that only very large vessels can mount them, and so expensive that generally only the military bothers. Our fleet carries just four of them, though until recently it was five."

Bill felt his forehead wrinkling in confusion. "What the frak? Then how the hell...?"

Laura laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sure these technical details are all very interesting, and even important, but it is exactly the kind of confusion causing detail we set up the exchange program to avoid. And it's not really what we needed to speak with you about, Captain."

"Then, please, go ahead Madame President. You have my undivided attention."

"There are a couple of facts your officers need to be aware of, Captain. I suppose whether or not you choose to share them with your people is up to you. Those of your people we have met so far seemed to have...mixed opinions regarding our civilian government." Sinclair started to protest, but she forestalled him with a raised hand. "It was fairly obvious, but no one was the least bit disrespectful, so I have no complaints. But the first fact is regarding that government...my government. Specifically, our fleet is in the last stages of preparation for an election which will take place less than a week from today. I am standing for reelection, and my only opponent is Dr. Gaius Baltar; the scientific advisor who met with your officers during your last visit. It appears to be a very close race."

Sinclair blinked thoughtfully several times. "I...I see, Madame President. Well, this is indeed surprising, but not really any of our business."

"Perhaps not, Captain. But, having met both Dr. Baltar and me, I was hoping that your Commodore Sheridan would endorse me."

The Captain cleared his throat in discomfort. "I will pass along your message, Madame President. But I have to say that I don't think we should get involved in your internal politics, and I will advise the Commodore accordingly."

"I'm not surprised, Captain. However, before you make your decision, I think you should first hear the other item we wished to discuss with you. Apart from yourselves, it is the single largest topic of discussion amongst the Colonial fleet. You see, we've found a planet. My opponent refers to it as New Caprica, and is campaigning on the idea of settling there permanently. The system is shrouded in a thick nebular cloud, and so he assumes that the Cylons won't be able to find it. I think that's an extremely dangerous assumption. I believe the entire campaign revolves around this single issue."

"This world...it's habitable?"

"That depends on your definition," Adama answered. "The air is perfectly breathable, but there is a distinct lack of plant and animal life, and the soil is poor. Surviving there...won't be easy."

"But a lot of people in this fleet just want to breathe real air again," Laura continued. "Feel the sun. Not be crammed into ships like Sardines. And because of that, they aren't fully considering the possibility that the Cylons will find us."

"Would it be possible for me to obtain the information you have on this planet?" Sinclair asked cautiously.

Adama walked over to his desk, then opened a drawer and withdrew a medium sized binder. He passed it to Sinclair. "This contains everything we have on the planet."

"Thank you, Admiral. I'll bring this to the Commodore. It will, of course, be his decision what to do with the information. I suppose I should give this to you now." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small conical crystal. "This crystal contains our full cultural contact packet. It's what we use to follow up our first contact protocols. The crystal contains an overview of our history, cultures, languages, religions, politics, and even a primer on our level of scientific and technological advancement."

Adama looked at the crystal, then shook his head. "We have no way to read that."

"I could arrange for an appropriate interface device to be sent over."

"No. No computers. Your stuff all appears to be highly networked. Is there any way you could provide this information in hard copy?"

Sinclair seemed surprised at the question, but took a moment to really think about it. "I'm not certain. We don't generally print things to paper. I know that there is a civilian newspaper that has been started up on the Olympic. We could probably use their printers to work something up. We'll find a way, Admiral."

"Thank you, Captain.

.

Starbuck strolled into the pilot's briefing room, taking the CAG's position behind the lectern. No one was paying any attention to her as all eyes were glued to the young woman in the strange uniform taking her place amongst them.

"Alright people, settle down. As you've all noticed, we have a new member of the family. I want you to welcome Lieutenant Susan Ivanova to the fold. She's here under an officer exchange program with the Earth Force fleet."

"Your gonna let this nugget fly with us? Is she even old enough to drive?" Kat snarked from where she sat towards the back of the room. "What, are you gonna put training wheels on her Viper?"

"Knock it off, Kat," Kara grumped. "We gave up Hot Dog for the Lieutenant, which I think we can all agree is a trade up, even if she can't fly. Hell, just the lack of Hot Dog's odor in the head makes the whole trade worthwhile. And I am assured that Lieutenant Ivanova is one of the Earth Force's best."

"This Rook?" Kat asked, pressing the issue. "Hey Rook, you ever even seen combat, much less been in it?"

"A time or two," the Lieutenant replied with a small smile, meeting Kat's gaze without flinching.

"Got any kills?" someone asked from the back of the room.

"Some," she replied, not looking to see who it was, still staring down Kat.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Rook," Kat said, clearly relishing the interplay. "What's your number? How many kills has little old you got? Don't expect to impress us. Most of the people in this room have made Ace against the Cylons. A few of us have made Double Ace or higher."

"Double Ace?" the Lieutenant asked, never taking her eyes off of Kat. "Very impressive."

"So what's your number, Rook? We're all waiting? One? Two?"

"One hundred and seventeen."

Kat sneered as laughter and derisive comments rang out across the room. Behind them at the podium, Kara rolled her eyes. She hadn't pegged Ivanova as the lying braggart type, but it looked like she'd have to smack the woman down on her first day. Kill count wasn't something you joked or lied about. Shaking her head, she began flipping through the personnel file she had been given on the woman. The real number would certainly be in there, and she would have to embarrass the Lieutenant by throwing it out to the group. Finding the right section, she began scanning through the document...

"Holy frak!" As everyone's attention snapped back to Starbuck, she looked up at the room. "That's...right. One hundred and seventeen. There's a frakking list. And another number...modified kill count...and it's over three hundred?" She glanced an inquiry at Ivanova.

"We count Minbari kills as three, because of all of their advantages. Well...most pilots get to count them as five, but as a telepath I'm only allowed three. I'm told that Master Ace is bestowed at one hundred and twenty-five, which has only been hit by a handful of people in our world's history, but there was no way they would give that out based on a modified kill count. Besides, I might have to give up the majority of those kills. Quite a significant number of them happened while I was a mental sock puppet."

Kara had no idea what to make of that statement, and saw similar confusion on the faces of her pilots. But one thing was clear. She had lost control of her meeting. Time to fix that. Rapping her knuckles on the podium, she drew everyone's attention back to herself. "Lieutenant," she said, addressing Ivanova again. "I've got a new flight suit for you. Since you're going to be joining us, I'll expect you to wear it. No one's flying off of my ship in...one of those," she said nodding at Susan's uniform.

"What's wrong with my flight suit? It's worked just fine this entire time."

"When we were all maneuvering against each other during first contact, I had a close pass with one of your Starfurys. I got a good look inside the cockpit while it was pulling a hard turn. The pilot's helmet literally flipped up and smacked her in the face. What idiot designs a helmet to sit on the shoulders rather than the head?"

Susan actually blushed. "Well, you know what they say about military contracts going to the lowest bidder."

"Well, I'm just glad that bidder wasn't in the Colonies." She removed a packaged flight suit in the Lieutenant's size from beneath the podium and tossed it to her, the bronze colored material glinting in the light. She followed it up with a proper helmet. "I also understand that you don't have a Call Sign."

Susan nodded. "We don't give them out all that often. They're usually considered an honorary badge, to be designated when someone has done something particularly noteworthy...good or bad."

"Well, you'd think having over a hundred kills would be considered noteworthy."

"Probably. I guess we've all just been too busy trying to survive to take the time for it."

"Well, if you want to fly with us, you need to have one. Fortunately, I was able to get into contact with your former CO, and he had some suggestions."

"Oh no," Susan muttered to herself.

"Everyone," Starbuck announced loudly to the room. "I'd like you all to meet our newest pilot...Russki."

"That son-of-a-bitch," Russki hissed under her breath.

Starbuck wasn't finished. "Now, we've all got a training flight to integrate our new pilot and get her accustomed to flying Vipers. Russki, you're out of uniform."

.

The squadron pulled into a chevron formation as they waited for their newest member to join them. Russki had looked at the Viper launch tubes with great interest, and had been eager to go. But, as expected, Chief Tyrol was taking extra time certifying her bird prior to launch. He didn't want any issues befalling their newest shipmate on his watch...at least, none that were his responsibility. Starbuck wondered if the Earthers were taking as good of care of Hot Dog. Probably they were sick of him already.

Finally, Chief Tyrol gave the go ahead. Starbuck listened in to the crew chatter as Russki's bird was pushed into the launch tube, picturing it in her head. "Russki, you are cleared for launch," came the voice of the launch controller. If Russki remembered her protocols, she would give a thumbs up, then receive and return a salute from her crew chief, though today Chief Tyrol had probably assumed that spot. "Launch! Launch! Launch!"

Starbuck knew the full body kick Russki would now be feeling as her Viper was hurled out of the tube. Some first timers puked. Others passed out from the G forces, which was why the Admiral had made sure nothing was in the way of the launch tubes. If Russki lost consciousness, she'd have plenty of time to come to and regain control of her craft. Some pilots came out gasping for air, while others were praying to the gods. Still other pilots took the whole process stoically, trying to impress everyone with how mundane they thought the whole process was. Having read her file and spoken with her CO, Kara was betting on the last option. She wouldn't, however, be surprised by any reaction...except for the one she got.

Russki shot out of the tube with a banshee howl into her mike. "I have got to get me one of these!" Slowly at first, but then rapidly accelerating, her craft began to roll, rotating around its long axis. She must have made a mistake with the unfamiliar controls, because instead of correcting, she began to tumble as well. A series of correction attempts only made things worse. Within seconds she was tumbling along all three axis with her main engines still thrusting hard, rolling and corkscrewing wildly.

"Shit! Russki's lost it!" came Kat's shout. Kara was already gunning her engines, attempting to pull close to the out of control craft. She needed a good line of sight in order to talk the Earther through stabilizing her craft. The squadron followed her in.

They moved in close, and Starbuck was just getting a feel for the wild gyrations, when Russki's Viper flipped over backwards and in a pair of heartbeats was flying perfectly parallel to her new CAG. Of course, she was flying upside and backwards and looking Kara directly in the eye from barely two meters away, but there was not so much as a wiggle to her craft. "I like it," she announced. "So what's up, Boss?"

Kara's eyes widened, and she broke out into a grin despite her best attempts at an officer's scowl as she heard other members of the squadron cursing under their breath. "Oh. You're going to be fun. Ok, folks. It seems Russki likes acrobatics. So today's exercise will be high G maneuvers. We're going to keep going until I get tired. First person to puke cleans it up for everyone else!"

.

Susan Ivanova was changing out of her flight suit in the locker room, after a hard training session. Only one person had actually puked in their helmet, but a half dozen other had yakked shortly after returning to the Galactica. Starbuck had pushed hard to show that the rest of her pilots were no slouches compared to Susan. She was clearly just as tough as Sinclair had ever been. And, despite the vomit and some grumbling about it all being her fault, those pilots now clearly considered her one of them.

This was a golden opportunity. A chance to start fresh and reinvent herself. She supposed these people would still be afraid of telepaths. And she would still be the youngest pilot in the squadron. But, here she wouldn't be Ganya's little sister, or Ironheart's partner who had experienced him becoming a god, or even that woman who was sort of a serial killer. She didn't have any of that baggage here. Hell, even that idiotic call sign was a chance to reinvent herself.

Which was why she adamantly refused to allow something as mundane as a coed locker room to throw her off. She would just stand here, facing the wall, and change, despite all of the men who were mere feet away. And she was not blushing furiously. No, it was just cold in here...or something. Of course, it didn't help that not only could she feel their eyes on her, she could literally see and hear the thoughts behind those eyes.

"Eyes front and center, Duck!" she barked, not bothering to so much as turn her head.

The pilot chuckled from directly behind her. With over forty confirmed kills, he was one of a handful of pilots on board that was anywhere close to her numbers. "Awful touchy, aren't you. Relax. I ain't doing no harm."

"Is that what Nora would say? You probably shouldn't be comparing my ass to hers."

She heard him hiss behind her and step closer. "What the frak? How did you know about me and Nora? We haven't told anyone yet. And I wasn't comparing your asses!"

Now it was Susan's turn to chuckly. "You were all told I was a telepath, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever superstitious nonsense you want to believe," he said, then stomped off angrily.

Susan was still smiling when she heard the argument break out.

"Come on, you've got plenty. Just let me borrow a little."

"Frak you. You ain't borrowing shit. It's my last tube of Felgercarb, and it's not like you would ever pay back what you borrowed. You should have conserved better."

"Hey asshole, we've all been scrimping and saving what little we got. Some of us just started with more than the others. Why should you be better off than the rest of us just because you happened to be lucky enough to have a full tube when all this shit started?!"

Susan could feel their emotions ramping up, preparing to trade blows, so she stepped in. "Just curious," she said approaching, "but what's Felgercarb? I've never heard the word."

"It's a brand name," spat the first pilot, whose name she didn't know. "Felgercarb toothpaste. Fuzzy here's still got some left."

"You're fighting over toothpaste?" she asked in shock. "Are supplies really that low?"

"If you think the lack of toothpaste is bad," Racetrack said, coming out of the head, "wait till you realize there's not a damned tampon left in the fleet. Why, Russki? Aren't things as tight over in your fleet?"

Susan turned and reached into her rucksack, retrieving a couple of packages. She threw a full-size, unopened box of Crest toothpaste to the first pilot, and a box of Kotex to Racetrack. "Sorry, I use pads. If you'll excuse me, I need to make a call."

.

Saul Tigh marched into the President's office aboard Colonial One. Given his swagger, he was impossible not to notice. The Presidential Aide, Tory Foster, looked up from her work. "What can we do for you, Colonel?"

"The polls open in four hours. I came to inform the President that the military stands ready to ensure the validity of the vote. Is everything ready here?"

She gave him a knowing nod. "Yes, everything is prepared."

"Well, then, I'll see you afterwards."

Tigh was turning to leave, when Colonial One's Captain hustled into the room. "You all need to hear this. We just received a broadcast from the Earth Alliance Fleet. It was an open broadcast to everyone, on our standard civilian frequencies. They say Commodore Sheridan will be making a statement in a moment." He flipped on a comm panel mounted on the rear wall.

"Regarding what?" Tory asked.

"They didn't say."

The comm unit crackled with static as they waited, but shortly a voice could be heard. "Good morning to you all. This is Commodore John Sheridan of the Earth Alliance Fleet. I am sorry to take up your time on what I am sure will be a very busy day, so I will endeavor to be brief. I have some information that I feel you have a right to know. I recognize that my statement will be politically charged within your fleet, but I assure you that I have neither the intent nor the interest to interfere in your political process. What I wish to speak to you about today is the world you have named New Caprica. I have studied your files on the planet. It is barely habitable. A colony of a few tens of thousands of individuals just might be able to survive, perhaps even thrive there. A colony of millions would find it much more difficult, though our fleet does possess terraforming equipment which could make the planet more livable over a long period of time. Of more concern to me is the nebular cloud which some believe will shield you from Cylon detection. Having studied the cloud, I can say with certainty that it will not to the slightest extent impede a Minbari search. Our fleet may have lost its pursuers, but I would feel far more comfortable putting a bit more territory between us before I begin colonization. With those two facts in mind, I wish to make it known that the Earth Alliance fleet will not be settling New Caprica, whatever choice you make this day. Now, my best wishes to you, as you practice your democracy. John Sheridan, signing off."

The comm unit faded back to static as Tory and the Captain stared at each other, stunned. "I'm going to see if the President needs anything," he said, and strode from the room.

Saul waited momentarily for the door to shut behind him, then strode forward and grabbed Tory by the arm. "Call it off."

"Excuse me?" she snapped, glancing down at where he still held her, just above her elbow. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I gods damned mean. Call it the frak off."

"This doesn't change anything. Baltar still has a significant chance of winning," she hissed at him.

"If the people are stupid enough to vote for him now, then they deserve what they frakking get. Sheridan just made our entire fleet aware of the consequences, and there's nothing that weasley bastard Gaius Baltar can do about it." He finally let go of her. "So I will say it one more time. Call it off, or I will gods damned well arrest every damned member of the plot."

"That includes you to, you know."

"Then I'll get to enjoy a good snooze in the brig. Now, are we clear?"

"Crystal," she ground out.

With a nod, Tigh marched out with a considerably lighter step than with which he had arrived.

.

A very long day later, Tigh sat drinking as he and Bill watched the votes being counted. Bill was chatting with the President as Petty Officer Dualla brought in the ballots from the Zephyr, delivering them to where Lieutenant Gaeta was overseeing the counting. Roslin was in a rather good mood. Commodore Sheridan's last minute announcement seemed to have decidedly swung the vote back into her favor. She did cast a rather disapproving look over at the Colonel as he took another drink from his flask, but chose not to say anything. While Bill appreciated that, it didn't mean he was going to allow Saul to get all the way to drunk while still on duty. He stepped over to the Colonel and said, "Maybe take it easy on that stuff, Saul. We'll be on duty for a while yet."

"Come on, we've got to celebrate, Bill!" Tigh argued.

"I didn't realize you were such a fan of the President's. I always got the impression you didn't like her."

"Can you imagine the alternative though? Baltar? Gods help us." Tigh asked with a touch of amusement. "That's not why I'm celebrating though. I'm just glad to get through this election with my soul intact."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Perhaps if he had been just a bit more sober, the Colonel would have thought better of his next words. "You know. We got the President re-elected without having to take steps."

"Steps?" Adama asked, his tone sharpening.

"Sure. To make sure the votes added up the right way."

"And what way is that, exactly, Colonel Tigh?"

The barked words from his friend and CO finally got through the fog in Tigh's head, and he suddenly looked alarmed. Just not any more sober. "You know, Bill. We couldn't let that skink Baltar get elected. Can you imagine? It would be a disaster" He seemed to shrink as Adama's glare redoubled. He tried to flog his tired brain into action, looking for a justification. "Oh hell, you know I'm no good at explaining these things." His eye caught sight of Dualla. "Dee. Foster got you involved in this too. Help me explain why it was so important that..." He trailed off as Adama slowly turned away from him to place his full attention on Petty Officer Dualla. Anastasia, having been surreptitiously listening in on their conversation, was staring back at the Admiral with very wide eyes.

"Petty Officer Second Class Dualla," he snarled, "I strongly recommend you find yourself elsewhere. Immediately." Without so much as a squeak, Dee turned and fled. For his part, Lieutenant Gaeta kept his nose firmly buried in the counting. Saul had decided this was an opportune moment to take another nip. With a growl of disgust, Bill slowly walked back over to stand next to the President and resume watching the count. Turning to look directly at her, he spoke quietly so as not to be overheard. "It appears that some of my officers have been acting in collusion with your campaign manager, Tory Foster, to prevent a Baltar Presidency. While I may agree with their assessment of him, what they were doing was illegal, even if they called it off before actually tampering with the votes." Lowering his eyes, he continued, "A judicial tribunal may have to be convened…"

"Stop," she said softly, shaking her head. "I gave Tory the go ahead. I didn't know exactly what she was planning. I certainly didn't know about Colonel Tigh, oh my gods. But...I did know she was planning to fix the vote."

"You planned to steal an election."

"Yes I did," she said contemplatively, not meeting his eyes. "And I got caught." She finally met his gaze. "But Gaius Baltar cannot become President of the Colonies, Bill. It cannot happen."

"Laura," he said cautiously, "I don't want him as President either but…"

"He's working with the Cylons," she said, cutting him off. "I saw him, Just before the attack on Caprica. With a copy of the tall, blonde Cylon woman. The same model who accused Baltar of treason before disappearing from Galactica."

"What the hell are you saying? Why didn't you say something before this?"

"Because I didn't remember seeing him with that woman until I remembered it when I was dying. I know how that sounds, but it's real. The same way Kobol is real. And the Tomb of Athena is real. And that map to Earth is real. Baltar is working with the Cylons."

"Even if that's true," he responded, "you have no proof."

"No, I don't."

He shook his head morosely, thinking. Finally, he reached out and snagged a chair, sitting down. Roslin followed suit. Eventually, he said, "Thank gods they called it off. If they hadn't, the decision facing us would be whether or not to steal the results of a democratic election. If we did so, we'd be criminals. Unindicted, maybe, but criminals just the same."

"Yes," she nodded, "we would be."

He glanced down at the floor, then returned his gaze to her. "You wouldn't have done it. You'd have gone this far, but that's it."

"Excuse me?"

"If you'd tried to steal this election, you'd have died inside. Likely moved your cancer right to your heart." He paused again. "Now that's not a concern. People make that choice….they have to live with it, whatever it is."

"Baltar is the wrong choice."

"Yes, he is. Have faith. Sheridan made them see that. And if not…"

"We just give up?"

"The battle perhaps. But not the war."

They were quiet for the next few minutes, contemplating that disquieting thought. Finally, Lieutenant Gaeta approached them. "Madame President? We just finished the count. It's not official yet, of course, but I wanted to be the first to congratulate you. You've been re-elected. Congratulations. It was closer than I expected, but the vote was definitive."

Roslin beamed. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"If you'll excuse me, Ma'am, I need to go inform the other candidate."

.

President Roslin and Admiral Adama were on their way to the flight deck when an unwelcome visitor stepped into their path, blocking them. Roslin looked him up and down. "Dr. Baltar. We're rather busy. Make an appointment with Tory."

Baltar gave her his obsequious smile. "Really, Madame President. I won't take but a moment of your time. I just wanted to officially offer you my concession and congratulations," he said proferring his hand in an offer to shake hers.

Laura glanced down at his hand in distaste and did not take it. "Thank you, Doctor. Now that the election is over, hopefully we can move forward and we can all get what we deserve. Now, if you will excuse us, we have someplace to be."

She began to step around him, but he sidestepped once more into her path. She glanced sharply into his face. "Madame President. Please...allow me to urge you, once again, to do the right thing and settle our people on New Caprica. We can't keep going like this. We can't survive much longer in this fleet. On New Caprica, we will all be able to put the past behind us and start afresh."

She took a half step closer to him. "You'd like that wouldn't you? To be able to let the past die? But I'm afraid, Doctor, that there are some things from our past that will never die. That can never be left behind, no matter how much we want." She took another step closer, practically standing on his toes, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I know what you did. I promise you, I'm going to watch you burn for it."

Baltar's eyes grew very wide, stunned. He took a hurried step back from the President, sliding off to the side to get out of her way. Roslin and Adama resumed their walk, leaving the nervous Doctor behind. "What did you say to him?" Bill asked after a few minutes of walking.

"I let the good doctor know that justice would come to him."

Bill grunted. "May not have been wise. The little weasel usually finds a way of protecting himself."

"If you don't mind, Admiral, I'd rather not talk about Gaius Baltar."

He grunted again in agreement, and they spent the next couple of minutes walking in companionable silence. Finally, they reached their destination. Baltar's interruption had made them late, and the Deck Chief was just bringing Commodore Sheridan into the flight deck ready room. He sprang to attention and fired off a salute at Adama. Bill interrupted before he could say anything. "You're already aboard, so don't bother asking for permission." He returned the salute.

Sheridan chuckled, then turned towards Roslin. "Madame President, may I extend my very sincere congratulations on your reelection."

"You're too kind, Commodore. Now, what's the occasion? Your people were rather...mysterious...when they asked for this meeting."

"They didn't want to ruin the surprise. I come bearing gifts. Your Deck Chief is having them delivered to your quarters, Admiral. If it's not too presumptuous on my part, perhaps we could continue this conversation there? I have a proposition or two I believe may interest you."

.

Just a few minutes later they were seated in Adama's quarters, where a pair of crates bearing Earth Force markings had been delivered. Bill ignored them in favor of proper hospitality. "Commodore, Madame President., may I offer you anything to drink?"

"Admiral," Sheridan countered, nodding at the smaller of the two crates, "perhaps you might like to open this case first?"

That caught Bill's attention, and he walked over to the indicated crate. It was unlocked, and so he raised the lid...and blinked at the array of bottles and bags packed tightly inside. He turned his eyes up to Commodore Sheridan. "If this is what I think it is, then it's really quite the gift. Perhaps too generous."

"It's meant as an act of friendship, but also as a means to broach a...tricky conversation." He leaned in and pulled out one bottle after another, naming them as he went. "French Champagne. Irish Whiskey. Jamaican Rum. Kentucky Bourbon. I noticed that we were drinking your stocks low, Admiral, and this seemed fitting." He skipped over the next dozen or so bottles, and hefted out a large sack. "Colombian Coffee." This was followed by a fine wooden box. "Cuban Cigars. Some of the finest of what Earth had to offer, and an example of our wealth of culture. I had some of my people add an information card with each item, detailing a little about the place, people and customs that created it."

"Thank you, Commodore." He leaned in and pulled out a bottle at random, reading the attached card. Tequila. From some place called Mexico. He opened the bottle and poured out three healthy glasses, then took a sip. Eyes widening, he gasped a little. "I'll have to keep Saul away from this stuff." His two guests chuckled, and Bill set down his glass and approached the second crate. Cracking the lid, he found it to be stuffed to the brim with old fashioned newspapers. He looked up at the Commodore, a question clear in his expression.

"It's our First Contact and Cultural package. You wanted hard copy rather than a data crystal or direct data transfer. We didn't have an easy way to do that, but fortunately one of our civilian ships was running a newspaper. Unfortunately, the machine they use prints entire newspapers all in one shot, and couldn't output anything other than that. So we plugged in our data, and it started spitting out newspapers. There's over two-hundred of them there, all Sunday edition sized. Data on our worlds, history, cultures, sciences, military...it's all in there, but split up by that machine into 'news articles.' Frankly, I'm not sure how useful to you it will be. Just trying to find information in there is going to be a serious pain in the ass."

Bill drew the first paper off the top of the stack. The huge headline declared 'The Earth,' underneath which was an enormous colored map of a planet that must be at least two-thirds water. It was gorgeous. He handed it over to Roslin. "Commodore, this will be a joy to read. Thank you." He lifted his drink and carefully took another sip. "Now, I believe you said this was going to lead into a somewhat difficult conversation?"

Sheridan nodded. "Lieutenant Ivanova contacted Captain Sinclair. She requested a 'care package' for her new squadron mates. She advised us how short they were on things like simple toiletries and basic medications. Her thinking didn't really go past the stage of doing something nice for her new shipmates, but Sinclair knew to kick the matter up to me. If primadona fighter pilots are being rationed, and I say that as one, then the bulk of your crews must really be struggling...to say nothing of your civilians. Admiral, Madame President, if I understand your situation correctly, you threw together your evacuation fleet in a few hours, with no time to so much as think about the kinds of supplies you might need, much less gather them. My fleet, on the other hand, had most of a year to consider and prepare. We're not exactly overflowing at the seams with resources, but we are comfortable enough for now. And your fleet's population is barely a fraction of ours."

"So you're offering to help us?" Roslin asked curiously.

"I'm hoping we can help each other."

Adama thought about that statement for a moment, covering it by taking off his glasses and wiping them clean. "Nothing comes free, huh?"

Sheridan actually seemed embarrassed. "I'd like to trust you. As few humans as there are left, we should all be family. But, my responsibility is such that I simply can't afford to trust easily. Captain Sinclair reported on his recent meeting with you, so I know that, just like us, you would have jumped away if you hadn't had ships with downed jump drives. Frankly, we might still have just run if your fleet hadn't somehow gotten between us and the jump gate."

Bill blinked a few times. "The what?"

"The jump gate." Seeing the looks of confusion on their faces, he rapidly appended, "I suppose, given how all of your ships are jump capable, you must just use it for the beacon." Seeing their confusion only growing, he paused, considering. "Surely you must have at least followed the beacon here? How else would you have gotten to this system?"

Adama considered for a moment, then simply said, "I have no idea what either a beacon or a jump gate is."

"But then how the hell do you navigate through hyperspace?"

"Hyperspace?"

Sheridan grunted. "I keep forgetting that our languages aren't quite identical. We keep running into words and terms that don't quite match up. Hyperspace is the supradimensional realm we enter, and through which we navigate, in order to achieve faster than light speeds. Navigating through it to find new destinations is incredibly dangerous. So how the hell did you get here if you didn't follow the beacon network?"

"Commodore...when we initiate our FTL drives, we just point them at a set of coordinates and jump. I'm no expert on the principle, but so far as I know there's no interface with any extradimensional plane. That's sounds...suspiciously fantastic, frankly."

Sheridan began pacing in agitation. "You mean you've got an FTL system that doesn't use hyperspace? But nobody, has a system other than hyperspace. Well...maybe the Vorlons, but they're the Vorlons."

"Commodore," Roslin drew his attention, "we seem to keep getting bogged down in our technical difference. Which is why we decided to take things slow. I'm sure we will read about all of this in this contact package you have brought us. We are sending you something similar. Perhaps we should let each other absorb the material before we worry too much about such intricacies."

"Of course, Madame President. I appreciate your practicality."

"Frankly, Commodore, we came to this meeting in the hopes that, for the time being, our fleets could travel together. Support each other. We both have enemies to face, but I believe that we will be stronger together than apart. We have our own mistrusts to overcome. Given our own recent history, I have a very hard time trusting a military dictatorship."

"Only a temporary one, Madame President. But we have very good reason to ensure it is so. Especially given our recent history."

"And I am sure that I will read all about them in the contact package. But, for the time being, perhaps we should return to your suggestion for how we can help each other."

"Of course. Well, it's simple really. At least, I hope it is. We have supplies your people are in need of. But you have something that we want. Artificial gravity. Despite our best efforts, our officers and crew are beginning to degrade from the constant exposure to zero gravity."

Bill shook his head. "I think we're both agreed that we're not quite at the point yet where we are willing to release our technological secrets to each other."

"And I'm not asking for them. We don't have the capacity to rapidly turn such knowledge into an artificial gravity field on our ships anyway. But I'm hoping that you do."

Laura nodded. "Perhaps. Admiral?"

"It's not like we're carrying a lot of spare grav plate. What we have is what's already in use. And the maintenance teams have been working hard just to keep it running."

"We need those supplies, Bill. Your people managed to make a whole new fighter. Surely they can put something together here."

"We'd have to literally rip grav plating out of our own ships. I suppose we could find locations where the plating isn't critical...cargo bays, maybe. But that won't be anywhere near enough to equip the Earth fleet.

"We don't need to equip the entire fleet," Sheridan interrupted, "just our military vessels. Most of the civilians are under spin the majority of the time. Hell, I'd be satisfied with just high presence areas the crew occupy for significant periods of time...bridge, engineering, the mess, residences if possible...those places we get the most impact to crew health and readiness. We wouldn't want it everywhere anyway. Our ships were designed with zero gravity in mind, and some areas would be less efficient if that were to change."

Bill contemplated for a few moments, then nodded. "I think we should be able to do that. It'll be tricky, both the extraction and the installation. I imagine just putting the power runs in place will be a small nightmare. We'll need to assemble a joint workforce. Hopefully that'll help build trust as well. Yes, it should be doable. And in exchange, we get…?"

"Food, medicine, toiletries and sanitation products. Really, tell us what you need. So long as it's not in really short supply...well, as I said, your civilian fleet is a lot smaller than ours."

Bill stepped forward and held out his hand. "Then you have a deal, Commodore."

Sheridan shook his hand enthusiastically. "Thank you, Admiral. I'd better get back to my fleet and begin making preparations." He stepped back and fired off a salute.

Bill returned the salute then called out to the guard in the hall, "Marine, escort the Commodore back to his ship."

After the Commodore had left, Laura downed her tequila and turned to face him. "Bill, did you happen to notice anything about the Commodore?"

He grunted, and sipped more sedately at his own drink, then went to refill both of their glasses. Finally, he said, "A good man in a tough situation."

"A drowning man...or floundering at least. He's far too young for so much responsibility."

"He can't just be the Admiral...he has to be the President too. I'm glad I wasn't stupid enough to think I could handle that." At her pointed look he added, "Well, not for very long, anyway. Let's just say I'm very glad not to be in that position now."

"But John Sheridan is...and he is full of self doubt. You can see it. He never expected to be in the position he's in, and it's clearly been difficult. He's desperate for a lifeline, and he thinks he's found one."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Bill, you saw the way he was looking at you, deferring to you. He's barely met you twice, and already you can tell he views you as a wise mentor...a father figure. You need to encourage that, Admiral."

"Don't be silly. The man's in charge of a larger and more powerful fleet than I am. I'm not even in his chain of command."

"Which makes you safe, Bill. He doesn't have to defer to you as an officer. He doesn't really have to worry about us militarily. They've got us outnumbered two to one in military ships, and they certainly have more troops than we do. So, when he looks at you he can set aside all that baggage...and just see a fount of wisdom and kindness."

Chuckling, he said, "I doubt many of the crew think of me as kind."

"Perhaps. But that man, Bill, he sees someone he can look up to. Someone he can listen to. You need to be that person for him. Be that substitute father. The survival of this fleet...and perhaps even his...may depend on it."

"My relationship with Lee is difficult enough without adopting new sons into the mix."

"Bill," she said, not unkindly, "you and I both know that half the officers and crew of this fleet...hell, even a good portion of the civilians...look up to you as a surrogate father figure. This relationship just happens to be far more important. It needs to be developed."

He sighed. "Alright, I'll do it. I'll try to arrange some sort of weekly meeting with him. Discuss joint fleet defense or something. Maybe I'll offer to introduce him to a Cylon. They've got to be interested."

"Good. That'll give him plenty of opportunity to become more attached." Seeing his disapproving look, she added, "it's critical to the safety and well being of this fleet."

"I just wish it didn't feel so manipulative."

"That's because it is manipulative, Admiral. Deal with it."